


Dance

by BulmaseekingVegeta



Series: The Prince and the Heiress BVDNs [3]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, OLÉ!, Tango, Vegebul AU, dance, matador
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulmaseekingVegeta/pseuds/BulmaseekingVegeta
Summary: This is my submission for The Prince and the Heiress Drabble Night for August.  The theme was dance and the prompts as usual are the titles of these chapters.  I've posted the banner and the links to my inspiration pics.In this story, Vegeta is a matador and Prince of a nearby kingdom.  Bulma's just along with some friends to watch a bullfight when she spots him and has a very nice memory of when they first met.I'm really into the AU so I am definitely going to flesh it out and continue it as a full fledged fic.  Enjoy!





	1. Matador

 

He checked every piece of his outfit, save for the bright white shirt that ruffled at his throat down his chest, every bit of it as red as fine wine.  _Pinot noir._   Made sure the fit was as tight as it could be.  Wiggled his toes in his boots and couldn’t do it which was good.  He couldn’t even fit a finger in between his torso and the highly restricting cummerbund wrapped around his waist.  His soon-to-be _not_ spotless, white gloves hugged his fingers like a second skin.  Good.  Lose garments got you gored.  Lose garments got you killed.

He stood ramrod straight just inside the entry to the arena.  In the sanctuary of the shadows, hidden from the audience, he held out his arm.  Holding out the concealed rod so that the bright red lining of the slightly browner than wine fabric could dangle from the rod like a curtain of freshly spilled blood.  He patted out any ruffles.  Attended to any hang-ups.  A decoy improperly prepared to be deployed would get you gored.  An unprepared decoy got you killed.

And lastly, he checked over the ornate embellishments of ‘uniform’.  Dark wine red knots of and curls of embroidery lined every him of ornate suit.  Pale grey embroidered knots complimented them at the corners of his lapel and cuffs like ghosts of past kills complimented his status.  Finally, he checked the embroidered flowers of his cape, sunset reds and oranges along with goldenrod yellows and meadow greens and lavender and lilac petals, and the cape’s small tight ruffles.  Something to dazzle the audience and disorient his latest victim for their amusement.

An arena attendant came into view.  Their eyes met and he nodded.  Silently, he placed the black lace mask over his face as he stepped out of the shadows and into the arena.  It exploded into cheers.

“Presenting El Matador, _Vegeta!_ ”


	2. Rhythm

It was a dance he knew by rote no matter who the partner.  He strode to the center of the arena to the audience that he didn’t hear.  His attention burning into the wooden door at the opposite side from his own entryway.  Quietly he assumed his stance.  Legs shoulder-width apart and straight as a and upside down ‘V’.  Arms by his sides.  His muscular shoulders set with his cape clasped tightly in one hand just waiting for the time to deploy.  All his adversary would see so far was wine and flowers.  A suitable last meal…  Or at least the whiff of one.

As always he had no intention of dying here in the packed tan dirt of the arena.  He gave the barest nod.

The metal bar bolting the large wooden door shut was slowly pulled back.  It’s screeching silencing the audience.  _Finally_ , Vegeta always thought their incessant hooting and hollering got in his way.

The attendants didn’t have time to get clear before the wooden door burst open revealing the white bull with its short horns seemingly too demure to be effective, but Vegeta knew that was _far_ from the truth.  They grew straight from out from the bull’s head like dagger blades.  No, his eyes narrowed, this bull was a skilled killer.  And he knew it had racked up a far higher body count than he ever could.  He had to be clever.  Smarter than this one.

He eyed the purple, pink, and gold designs painted on its white skin.  He smirked.  Those were meant to conceal what the rippling of the ugly creature’s movements were going to be.

Vegeta licked his lips.  _This is going to be fun_.  Without preamble, he dropped the fabric of his cape.  The wind blew the bright red gorgeously.  Making it ripple like the surface of an ocean of blood.


	3. Beneath the Chandelier

She shifted in her seat.  She hated these things, but her friends loved them and it _was_ all anybody could talk about at the balls and galas after all.  But still, she didn’t see the need to come to some big ass arena and watch some asshat in an outfit that had more gold embellishments on it than anything _she_ , the richest woman in the freaking city, wore slaughter the poor thing.

But that wasn’t true here.  The matador wasn’t wearing anything ornate at all.  In fact, it was super simple with no gold on it whatsoever.  She shifted again; in fact, she recognized this guy.  He had been to one of her father’s galas.  His Father was the ruler of kingdom some distance from this one.  Holy crap, the Prince was playing matador.  Well, not playing he had a really good rep at this if her friends’ excited chatter and girly squealing meant anything.  Apparently this _Prince_ was _the_ heartthrob matador.

And all she could think was that that was the shy, grumpy guy who was, yes, much shorter than you’d expect considering the freaking mountain his Dad was but still so, if you got past the serious attitude problem, probably… nope, no probably, he _is_ the sexiest guy she thinks she’s ever seen.  That she’d first run into underneath the chandelier of her parent’s massive estate’s grand ballroom.

Her expression softened at the memory.  It had been gold with dangling crystals and glowing candlelight.  She had been dancing… and drinking… a little too much.  And had stumbled right into him.  He looked down his nose at her.  _No one_ had ever done that to her before.  He heaved her off of him.  Unceremoniously.  Then he’d huffed away.  Unceremoniously.

Her brows furrowed.  It was so different from how he was now.  Strong.  Confident.  Not a colossal brat.


	4. Salsa

She watched his movements.  No sooner had he released the cape than the bull charged him.  Her heart leapt into her throat… but it was a feint.  Both bull and matador dodged away from each other in an elegant slide.  As the bull trotted the perimeter, eyeing Vegeta, he had spun around, drawing a circle in the dirt with the point of a booted toe… to face the beast.  He glared it down.  Resuming his commanding stance.  Challenging the beast.

He’d challenged her.  Well, maybe they _both_ had challenged each other…  Her mind raced back to later the evening of the ball…

She had snuck off into a side ballroom.  Still freaking huge, but it was definitely not the grand ball room.  Just another elegant gold and white room decorated with gold and crystal chandeliers and _silence_.  No groping dignitaries.  No one else.  Just her.  She liked it better that way.

She made her way to the center of the beautiful room.  Struck a pose.  And began to dance.  Alone.  Or at least she thought she had been alone.

It hadn’t even been a minute in her own private world before he’d stepped out of the shadows.  The Prince.  She’d stopped instantly.

They’d stared at each other.  Silently.  She glared at him for ruining her sanctuary during these living hells—

“You… salsa… beautifully.”  He couldn’t meet her eyes.  And it was more of a grumble than a compliment.

“I… I…,” What the Hell?!  She didn’t stutter.  Bulma Briefs didn’t freaking stutter!  “I prefer to tango… actually.”

He looked up at her.  And then it was her turn to be unable to meet his eyes.  They were dark and intense and… haunted.  When she heard his footsteps echoing in the room, she did look up.  He stopped so close to her she could barely breathe.  He slipped an arm around her waist, pressed his hand to the small of her back, pressed her body to his, “A tango requires passion.  Are you passionate?” 


	5. It Takes Two

Her hands had slipped up his chest.  She met his eyes, “Do you?”  She breathed.

There was a sparkle in his eyes that wasn’t mirth but fire.

Quietly he took one of her hands in his… slipped it sideways across his chest, her fingers gliding over the soft, rich linen and feeling every etch of muscle underneath.  She never broke eye contact as their hands left his body and extended out.  His fingers extending from her hand to leave just her hand clasping his palm.  She slipped her other hand up his chest… then around to cup his bicep as his elbow extended out just as slowly as her hand had traveled.

Then they moved.  To a music they somehow shared.  To a music that no one else could hear.

She slid her leg back, taking her body away from him.  His leg matched hers, his body remaining grounded but lowering slightly to match hers.  Smooth, silken movements.

Suddenly he snapped her body to his.  Her golden ruffled skirt flew up by her hips, flaring.  Her leg burst through the hip-high slit, wrapping around his lunging thigh.  Her hand leaving his bicep to splay its delicate fingers across his shoulder blade.

Their faces nearly touching.  Her breath smelled as sweet as summer-ripened strawberries.  His as spicy as grated cinnamon.

Suddenly he spun her around.  Her foot slamming on the floor.  Her back pressed against his body.  He held up her outstretched hand like a chalice and her soft hand was just the right wine to fill it.

His hot, heavy breathes puffed against her ear as his other hand slithered from the small of her back around to ghost her side.  She smiled as her round ass pressed against him and felt another snake beginning to reach out to her body, begging to explore it.


	6. Ballet Shoes

Without his cue, she turned sharply.  Facing him.  His eyes zeroed in on hers.  She could see he was fighting the pink deepening in his cheeks.  He hadn’t meant to become aroused and he definitely hadn’t meant for her to feel it.

Her expression softened at his blushing.  No man had ever blushed at being so attracted to her before.  It was sweet… and so incredibly, incredibly sexy.  She closed the distance between their bodies again.  Pressing her front to his.  Her ample breasts squeezing against his chest and the confines of the delicate beaded lace, off the shoulder blouse she wore, propped up by her leather brown, lace, midriff corset.  She lifted her foot, pointed it like she did when the foot bore ballet shoes rather than black heels.  She let the shoe fall from her foot… then dragged her toe up his calve… up his knee… her leg hiking up his thigh again.  She pressed her hips to his.

He gasped and she smiled.  Feeling his thick bulge twitching against her wet core sheathed in black lace panties.

His grip on her tightened.  She gasped, but he didn’t smile.  If anything, his eyes burned with even more fire.  For a moment she was lost in the inferno, panting in the heat.

Suddenly he lunged.  Taking her with him.  She trusted his body against hers as she fell back.  Landing, by his control, gracefully, softly on the top his knee.  Her head dipping back, exposing her delicate neck to him.  He clutched her thigh just above her knee.  They panted.  He stared down at her, his body heaving with his breaths.  Rubbing his bulge against her core.  Suddenly her legs trembled. Her fingers slipping from his shoulder blade to his collarbone, digging in for dear life.  He hissed, his thick fingers pressing into her soft flesh.  They came.

Bulma watched him dodge the bull again.  _Please, please, don’t get hurt.  I only ever want to dance with you._

 

* * *

 

Here's the inspiration pic by the fabulous [Lem0uro](https://lem0uro.tumblr.com/):

 

And here's the link to the fabulous Tango series of fanart pics by artist [Vegetapsycho](http://vegetapsycho.tumblr.com/):

<http://vegetapsycho.tumblr.com/post/171648146395/spotify-was-on-shuffle-and-landed-on-shakiras-la>


End file.
